


Small Things

by CCNSurvivor



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNSurvivor/pseuds/CCNSurvivor
Summary: What happens when an angel and a demon come across an abandoned baby? And what will happen when they decide to raise it together? Chaos, probably. And a whole lot of love.





	Small Things

**Author's Note:**

> \- nervously dipping my toes into this fandom - be gentle? :)  
> \- what to expect? A whole lot of ineffable bickering, pining, fluff and shenanigans

A blink of an eye that might have been an entire year to some had passed since the world should have ended, and while London was groaning under a sudden heatwave, an angel and a demon were walking side by side entirely unperturbed. Upon closer inspection one might have detected a curious little breeze that followed them wherever they went, but humans could be incredibly ignorant to anything that made no immediate logical sense.

“What do you mean nothing struck you as odd?” Crowley, the taller of the two was questioning in exasperation. He missed a step but never lost control over his lean and gangly body, letting the abrupt motion end in an off-balanced but fully intended swagger which he had deemed “cool” centuries before the word had even acquired that meaning. The intricately coiled body of a snake in black ink glistened near his temple under the scorching light of the sun. “The voucher said, 'Sushi buffet for only 50p'-“

“For he who solveth the mystery of the fortune cookie. Thank you, Crowley, I do remember,” his companion, Aziraphale, intersected with a hint of sharpness.

“Exactly. Bollocks, a load of bollocks.”

“Or, _or_ a quest.”

“Across London. In this weather? Angel!”

Aziraphale lightly touched his fingertips to the chain of his pocket watch as if wanting to consult it but thought better of it in the end. The position of the sun alone told him that far too many hours had passed since lunch time. Instead, he settled for smoothing down his well-worn waistcoat, as if the gesture could wipe away the demon’s irritation.

But silence wasn’t what Crowley was after. He’d developed a special penchant for needling the angel, turning dignified avoidance into indignant huffs of protest and sometimes, just sometimes if he was particularly masterful, incoherent spluttering and ranting that brought sinfully delightful splashes of colour to his cheeks. But he digressed…

“We covered half of SoHo and Westminster _and_ Pimlico,” he continued, catching up with the other and ticking each district off with his fingers, “before you finally let me summon the Bentley.” 

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale tutted, sparing him the most pitiful of glances, “rules are rules, and the voucher specifically stated-“

“That in order to make a proper arse of yourself, you got to do the whole thing on foot, I know.”

Aziraphale’s lips drew together in displeasure. “Perhaps it wasn’t meant as a prank. Perhaps they saw through the camera that we had cheated, and that’s why they didn’t open up.”

“So now it’s my fault, is it?” Crowley asked, his eyebrows rising in exasperation over the top of his sunglasses.

“Well, you did-“

“ _I_ did? _You_ were the one oohing and aahing about how nice it was to finally be out of the heat, to be seated and-“ His face contorted into a grimace, as though he had to regurgitate the word he was about to use. “Comfy.”

“I’ve certainly realised that comfy is relative when it comes to _that_ car,” Aziraphale muttered, tilting his head away from his companion.

They were passing the little houseboats that lined the slender canals of Little Venice, and their lovingly painted exteriors, the raw beauty of the flower planters in their windows momentarily soothed his irritation.

Crowley, on the other hand, was only just getting started. Few had insulted the Bentley and lived to tell the tale.

“Bet there’s a video up on youtube already. One of those montages with circus music. Just you banging your little fists.”

He shoved his body into Aziraphale’s field of vision just waiting for the first little specks of red to burst to life. He’d stuck his tongue out in a most predatory manner but withdrew it back into his mouth when the anticipated reaction failed to come.

“Very well. May it bring them joy,” the angel remarked, folding his hands over the gentle mound of his stomach. It was unclear whether his intention was to hold on to the goodness that was threatening to slip through his fingers along with his patience, or to keep a lid on those unkind emotions that really wouldn’t have been in keeping with his celestial nature. “After all, no harm done.”

“No harm done?!” Crowley spluttered noisily. “That’s not what it sounded like 15 minutes ago before we’d passed that food truck selling churros when you were cursing the feeble constitution of humanity, so easily seduced by evil.”

Aziraphale’s ears started to colour.

“Really, you were seconds away from smiting the whole street and rescinding each and everyone’s place in heaven. All for a bit of rice and some raw fish.”

Deeply satisfied by the shocked gasp his words wrenched from the angel’s throat, he didn’t think anything out of the ordinary at first and continued walking. But when Aziraphale failed to follow, he paused and turned, an apology – which he was naturally loathe to offer – already forming on his tongue.

But his friend wasn’t even looking at him. His attention had become completely arrested by something on deck of one of the houseboats. Crowley felt its energy before Aziraphale could put words to his discovery. Fear and agitation were turning the air around it thick and uncomfortable. Still, it did not cry.

“Somebody seems to have forgotten their baby.”

Aziraphale, eyes wide, was extending his senses – grasping, listening, searching – to find other signs of life around it. But there was only the dull thumping as the wood of the vessel brushed up against its mooring, the gentle sloshing of water and the overpowering scent of pond weed in the distance. The infant’s distress was so palpable to him, too, that it seeped into his bones and expanded throughout his corporal form, manifesting in a restlessness he could not ignore. No, something had to be done.

Crowley, in the meantime, had shoved his hands into his pockets and drawn up his shoulders in a manner that desperately communicated disinterest. “They’re bound to notice it soon. Better not stick around. Let’s go.”

“We can’t just abandon it, Crowley. You know very well how fragile those human babies are.”

Looking right and left, Aziraphale awkwardly crossed the small gap between solid ground and the swaying hull of the boat and then worked his way around to the bow where the infant lay swaddled in a wad of threadbare blankets.

“Hello, young lady,” he whispered, assuming his kindliest smile.

In response, the baby’s pale brows drew together in a manner that promised a storm, its lips parted and from somewhere within its tiny body it released an almighty scream. Aziraphale hastily covered his ears.

“Oh dear. Crowley,” he swivelled around to seek out his companion who was still loitering on the pavement, “I seem to have upset her. Could you try your hand?”

“Not really good with kids, me,” he replied, having to repeat himself twice before Aziraphale finally caught what he was saying over the incredible racket the tiny human was creating. He glanced over his shoulder. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention. Earth consisted of too many laws and regulations, and it would be awfully tedious to become involved in some silly mix-up.

Aziraphale uncovered his ears but hastily rectified his mistake when the piercing screams threatened to shatter his ear drums. “Poppycock. Must I remind you that you were once the nanny of the child that didn’t turn out to be the Antichrist? I, on the other hand, was merely the gardener.” He glanced down at the tear-streaked face. “She’s terribly red, Crowley. I hope she doesn’t explode.”

Standing suddenly behind him, Crowley scoffed. “Babies don’t explode. Not unless you make them.”

He stepped closer and sank into a crouch, dangling one long index finger in front of the child’s cute little button nose. Ugh, the saccharine thought alone made his teeth ache as though they’d been glued together with honey. Five little fingers closed around his one, but the screaming persisted.

“What does she want? I don’t understand.” In fact, all Aziraphale could understand was unhappiness, dread and discomfort. Three potent emotions repeated again and again until he couldn’t focus on anything else.

“Can’t be so hard,” Crowley frowned. “All babies are essentially evil. They act on wants and whims. It’s the family that instils them with the “should” and “should nots”. So all we gotta do is figure out what she wants right now. I’m guessing she’s either too hot, too hungry or-“ he grimaced and sniffed the air around her “too dirty.”

Thankfully it wasn’t the latter. He pushed his sunglasses up to the crown of his head and was met with immediate silence. With its mouth hanging open, the baby girl stared up at him, tears still clinging to her lashes. A deep exhalation of breath, a tiny hiccup.

“I think she likes your eyes, Crowley.”

Well, colour him momentarily surprised. What a strange little human she was.

“Awesome, great. All taken care of then. Shall we hustle?” He thrust his hands back into his trouser pockets and made for the pavement once more.

“We can’t! She’s too upset still, poor thing. And I’m still not convinced that she won’t explode.”

As if by miracle, the gentle breeze that had followed them before was now caressing the soft pink skin of the baby. But the blissful expression of peace did not last long. Soon, the lips began to form a pout again and big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Breaks your heart,” Aziraphale sighed heavily, touching one hand to his chest.

“Sure does. But it isn’t our business.”

“It could be,” the angel called after him hopefully and Crowley paused.

He had long suspected that with Armageddon averted, his friend had developed a thirst for adventure. Of course, he preferred something safe and comfortable, with just enough of a challenge to make it interesting. Like a wild goose chase through London for some sushi. Or the mystery of the abandoned babe. Nothing tragic or life-altering.

He grimaced, his jaw clicked once as he mulled over his answer. “Not really my style. It’s your side that likes playing good Samaritan.”

“You said-“ Aziraphale started but then cut himself off, his voice cracking. A strange emotion had caught in his throat. “You said we’re on our own side.”

He was scowling at him now, all angelic features suppressed into one petulant expression of dismay. Crowley shifted his weight from one leg to the other. The thoughts inside his head seemed to have fractured into a million little shards of memories that drifted aimlessly around the confines of bone and flesh. Too many lifetimes of hoping and pining. Faith enough in the other to slip underneath their skin. And yet… They had never spoken again of their dinner at the Ritz or the days and nights that preceded it. Damned if he denied Aziraphale. Damned if he didn’t. Damned if the angel’s skilled manipulation didn’t make him even fonder of the bastard.

“Yeah, alright then. We’re on our own side. Got nothing to do with the baby though, does it?”

As if sensing the attention, the infant started to wail again.

“Well, you leave then. I can’t just abandon her,” Aziraphale muttered. He ran the heels of both hands over the well-worn velvet of his waistcoat, plucking it down and into place. “Would you like a churro, little one?”

Crowley watched as he bent over the babe, conjuring the sweet treat out of thin air. And here he’d told him that they’d eaten them all, the lying git. Behind the dark frame of his glasses, he rolled his serpentine eyes.

“Oi! Pretty sure little humans aren’t supposed to eat that!”

Slowly, Aziraphale straightened again. In his arms he was cradling the babe and – the demon could feel heat rise up his neck – a bottle of milk where previously a churro had been. The angel’s brilliant eyes were filled with an infuriatingly innocent glint.

Without waiting to take another look, Crowley pushed his body into motion and started heading back to the Bentley.

“One night. You contact the police, we hand her over. The end.”

But of course it wasn’t. Otherwise there’d be no point to this story.


End file.
